


The Happiest Pace on Earth

by Powerfulweak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Runner!Castiel, Runner!Dean, Running AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Powerfulweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why the Hell did Dean agree to run a half-marathon? Sam and Jess took off without him, he’s sweating, his legs hurt, and some scruffy-haired jerk in an angel wing t-shirt keeps passing him shouting “on your left.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Happiest Pace on Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a Destiel Running fic for a very long time and, after doing a 15K this weekend, I finally got the motivation. Thank you so much to [Jade_Maiden_333](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_maiden_333/pseuds/jade_maiden_333) for Beta Reading.

**_Mile 1_ **   


If you ask Dean, he’ll say he loves his brother; Hell, he would die for his brother. Sammy is his best friend and he would do anything in the world for him (and by extension, his fiancee Jessica).

But at this moment, he really,  _ really _ hates Sam.

Why the fuck did he ever agree to sign up for a damn half-marathon? In April? In Florida?

“It’ll be fun, Dean,” Dean mimics Sam in a high-pitched tone, breathing heavily as he tries to maneuver around a group of Stormtroopers taking up the entire road “It’s a Star Wars race, Jess and I are doing it. We can all run together.” Dean had been really excited about it when Sam mentioned it. Star Wars? Running? Sure, he could handle that. Had Dean known that both Jess and Sam would take off like bats out of hell the moment the starting gun went off, leaving him in the dust, he would have never agreed to this. 

And now here he is, running alone, dressed in a Chewbacca shirt, while Han and Leia are miles ahead of him. Dean grumbles at the memory of the argument he had with Sam about wearing the shirt; if anyone should’ve been Han, it was him.

A feeling of dread fills Dean as he passes the Mile 1 flag, knowing that he has over twelve miles left to go. Twelve miles? He hasn’t run anything longer than a 10K in six months. He’s been training, sure, but it’s all been easy treadmill jogs in his comfy, air conditioned gym, not the muggy, Orlando heat. 

Dean swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, praying they come upon a water stop soon. He adjusts his single earbud, turning up his music in hopes that it may distract him from his misery.

“On your left,” A voice calls out behind him. 

“What the-” Dean turns back to look just as a body breezes by him and jogs ahead. He doesn’t get a good look at the guy, outside of the a head of messy, dark hair and the back of his t-shirt, imprinted with a pair of tribal-designed angel wings. Dean watches the smug bastard disappear through the crowd. He scowls to himself and begins picking up his own pace. 

There is no way that asshole is beating him.

**_Mile 2_ **

As soon as he sees the first water stop, Dean barrels down the road, grabbing two cups at once from a volunteer and and pouring them over his head. The relief is immediate, the icy water soaking his skin and through his clothes. He tosses the cups aside and goes for another, when he suddenly spots a pair of tribal wings no more than 50 feet ahead of him.

Dean quickly downs a cup of water and sprints forward. He needs to catch up with the smartass who thinks he’s  _ so _ clever quoting Captain America ( _ ok, it’s a little cleve _ r, Dean admits to himself). He moves between racers, surging forward through the gaps until he’s only a few paces behind the guy. 

Dean grins as he sprints past the guy. 

“On your left,” he says triumphantly, but his smile quickly fades when he the man doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him. His eyes are zeroed in on the road ahead and his lips quietly move along to the music being piped into his earbuds. 

Dean frowns in embarrassment and turns back to face the road, refocusing on moving his legs. 

**_Mile 3_ **

Dean thanks whatever deity there might be for the clouds rolling in above them, blocking out the harsh morning sun and providing some relief as he passes the first 5K mark. A nice breeze picks up as the runners turn onto Main Street USA and, for the first time since the race began, Dean feels pretty good. He feels strong and in the zone, conscious only of his own footfalls and the opening notes of “Rebel Yell” piping through his earbuds. He admires the gorgeous scenery around him as he hops onto the sidewalk to sidestep slower groups; Disney World really is magical, especially with thousands of runners crowding the street. 

Dean gets a sudden inspiration and reaches into his armband to pull out his phone. He opens the camera app, switching the view so his face is reflected back at him. He tries to hold it steady, not wanting to stop or slow his pace. He hits the shutter button, but just as he does, another head pops into frame, flashing a shit eating grin as the camera clicks.

Dean doesn’t even realize what just happened until a tribal angel wing shirt zips around and past him once more.

“Sonuvabitch!” Dean growls. 

“Language!” the dark haired guy calls back over his shoulder, shooting Dean a wink. Dean fumes as he shoves his phone back into his armband. He amps up the volume and continues down the road, trying to find the zone again.

  


**_Mile 4_ **

Dean’s chugging a cup of gatorade, spilling most down his front, when he spies the Angel Wings in the crowd again. He throws the cup down and speeds down the road, dodging between people to reach the guy.

Angel Wing’s pace seems to have slowed significantly since he passed Dean last, to the point where he’s almost speed walking rather than running. Dean would feel bad that he blew his load, so to speak, so early, if he wasn’t so looking forward to serving up his comeuppance.

“Ran out of super serum, Steve Rogers?” Dean chides as he passes the guy. He makes eye contact and realizes, with some horror, that it’s an entirely different dark-haired man. The new guy startles at Dean’s sudden presence, looking at him as if he’s grown a penis in the middle of his forehead.

“Oh… Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean stammers. “I, uh, thought you were… someone else.” The man continues to stare blankly at Dean as he quickly jogs away.

Dean groans at his own awkwardness and keeps on running. Of course someone else would have the same shirt; they probably had it on sale at packet pick-up yesterday. Dean resolves to stop with this competitive bullshit; it’s not like either one of them are actually going to win this thing or even place. He should just relax and enjoy the rest of the race.

**_Mile 5_ **

Megadeath blasts in Dean’s ear. He’s beginning to feel the strain of the run, his calves and thighs twinging every time his heel lands on the pavement. The mass of people starts to thin out, all the runners finding their own pace. 

He concentrates on his breathing and the music. His mind wanders back to the scruffy-haired runner in the wing shirt. It’s been awhile since he’d seen him and Dean can admit, he kind wishes he’d pop up again. He definitely made the running more interesting, even if the guy was just interested in antagonizing him. Plus, Dean had to admit that the view of the guy from the back wasn’t too hard on the eyes.

What could he say? Runners’ bodies are hot, male or female..

Dean wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, maneuvering around a walker at the side of the road.

“On your left,” a familiar voice shouts. Dean sees messy hair and a pair of wings passing by out of the corner of his eye. Before the man can speed out of sight, though, Dean sprints ahead, matching his pace. He hits pause on his music and looks over at the guy with a questioning look.

“You know this is a Star Wars race? You’re mixing your franchises, buddy.” Dean says, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up with the dark-haired guy’s incredibly long stride (seriously, is he like part gazelle or something?)

The guy shrugs. “Both Disney properties,” He says, glancing at Dean. “It all works.”

Dean chuckles through his heavy breathing. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, scruffy nerfherder.” Dean knows he'll pay for it later, but he charges past Angel Wings, cutting between two guys dressed as Finn and Poe. He grins triumphantly when he hears the guy shout over the crowd “Who you calling scruffy?”

**_Mile_** **_6_**

The sprint at mile 5 was a bad idea, Dean sees that now, but it was still worth it to get one over on Scruffy McAngelwings. A side stitch tugs at his ribcage painfully. Dean grits his teeth, rubbing at it and pushing himself to keep going. He really wishes Sam and Jess had bothered to stay back with him; they always have some sort of remedy or life hack that works.

“Slow down,” Dean doesn’t have to look to know exactly who it is.

“What?” Dean asks, looking to the left (because of course it’s the left!) where Angel Wings is keeping in step beside him.

“Slow down,” he repeats gently. “You have a cramp, right? Slow your pace and don’t focus on the pain.” Dean barks out a bitter laugh that turns into a sputtering cough.

“Easy for you to say,” he mutters. “This hurts like a bitch.” Despite his protests, Dean pulls back to a light jog. 

“Now, place your hand on the stitch, just like you’re doing,” the guys says, “then pinch the area between your thumb and finger as you exhale and release on the inhale.” Dean looks at the guy doubtfully but does as he’s told. It takes a few rounds, but eventually the cramp relaxes.

“Oh wow,” Dean sighs, rubbing at the spot a couple more time. “That works. Uh… Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the guy says, grinning brightly. Dean notices how blue the guys eyes are, especially against the ruddiness of his flushed face. 

Dean expects the guy to zip ahead once more, but he doesn’t. He stays at Dean’s side, matching his pace.

“I’m Cas, by the way,” the guy offers.

“Uh, Dean,” he replies. Cas nods and turns his attention back to the road as they continue running.

  


**_Mile 7_ **

“Want a Gu?” Cas asks. Dean looks away from Spaceship Earth towering over them, not sure if he heard him correctly.

“Huh?” Dean asks between sharp gasps of air. Dean finds it’s somewhat of a challenge to meet Cas’ strides, but it’s one he’s enjoying at least. Cas reaches into the pocket of his running shorts and pulls something out, offering it to Dean. 

“What the hell is that?” He frowns down at a silver packet in Cas’ hand, eyeing it warily. He doesn’t trust a lot of sports or nutritional foodstuffs after Sam gave him that disgusting Nitros drink one time. He was convinced he was going to have a heart attack on the treadmill.

“It’s like caffeine and sugar,” Cas explains. “Gives you a little boost… You look like you’re struggling.” He wasn’t wrong; Dean’s legs feel like lead and he can’t seem to catch his breath like before. More than once, he’s stared at other runners in envy as they walk past the water stops. 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says. “I don’t like eating strange things. What if it gives me the bubble guts or something?” Cas huffs a laugh.

“You’ll digest it before it before it’ll give you any stomach issues. Trust me,” Cas says with a wry half-smile. “Just give it a shot. It looks like you’re bonking.”

“Bonking?”

“Hitting the wall, running out of steam, y’know?” Cas gives Dean a pointed look, and damn, he’s got a really nice smile. Dean takes the packet with some trepidation, but tears off the top.

“How do I..?”

“Just squeeze it off and swallow,” Cas says and Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing and falling into a coughing fit. He pinches the packet and takes a quick sample of the gel.

It’s not bad, not really. The taste is salty and sweet, with a rich buttery flavor. Dean takes a long pull off the packet.

He hums in enjoyment. “What flavor is this?” He asks, licking his lips.

“Salted caramel, I think,” Cas says, ducking his head a little to look at the label.

“Best of both worlds,” Dean murmurs, taking another sip.

  
  


**_Mile 8_ **

They stay pretty matched in pace, Cas sometimes rushing ahead, past slower runners, in turn making Dean speed up too. He’d would be pissed by the intermittent sprinting, but seeing Cas’ face light up when he makes it feel pretty good. 

It’s not until the course exits Epcot that Dean catches a glimpse of the front of Cas’ shirt.

“Uh, who’s Anna?” He asks, gesturing toward the center of Cas’ chest where the words “Team Anna” stand out in black script against the light blue fabric.

Cas glances down at his shirt for a moment. “Oh, uh, it’s a charity thing,” He says shyly. “She was a friend, passed away last year. There’s a bunch of people running in her memory.”

“Yeah, I think I freaked out someone in the same shirt when I thought it was you,” Dean admits, pleased by the soft laugh he earns from Cas. A lull falls between them, filled only by the slap of their shoes. 

“‘So, why are you running alone, then?” Dean pipes up. If Cas is here with a group of people, shouldn’t he be paired up with someone else at least?

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know. Kind of just happened that way,” he says. “I trained by myself, I’m used to running alone. It’s not that bad really.” He gives Dean a skeptical look. “What about you?” 

Dean chuckles as he wipes the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve. “It wasn’t really the plan,” he says. “My brother and his fiancee said we would all stick together and then they dusted me from the start.” He gestures to his shirt. “In case, y’know, you were wondering why Chewy was all on his own.

“Can’t say I was, Dean,” Cas chuckles, “but I’m sorry they left you behind like that. It seems like it was very inconsiderate of them.”

“Nah, it’s ok,” Dean says, shaking his head. “They’re like triathletes and shit. I’d just be holding them back. And I’m like you, I trained alone so it’s not a big deal. ”

“True,” Cas nods. “It’s a shame you couldn’t find a companion when you’d been expecting one, though.”

“I’ll live. Plus it’s kind of hard finding someone who’s comfortable to run with, y’know?” Dean continues. “Someone you can fall into sync with.” He catches Cas giving him a curious look out off the corner of his eye.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You seem to have a talent for it.” Dean looks away, licking at his lips and swearing that the heat in his cheeks is just an effect of the sun.

  


**_Mile 9_ **

As scenic as the race was early on, the long stretches of road between the parks are mind-numbing. Cas seems to find it all fascinating, though.

“Are you going to take pictures of everything?” Dean huffs as Cas clicks a picture of a parking lot.

“It was the Weinermobile, Dean!” he says, his eyes wide with excitement. “The Wienermobile!”

“So?” 

“I’ve never seen it before!” Cas gushes, aiming his camera at some of the costumed racers around him, clearly confused by Dean’s lack of excitement. “Have you?”

Dean gives a breathy laugh. “You’re like a little kid, I swear.” Cas frowns, giving him a look strangely similar to Sam’s “Bitch Face.”

“Don’t stifle me,” he demands playfully. He lifts the camera above his head and moves in close to Dean.

“Dude, personal space,” Dean gives a half-hearted protest. 

“Selfie.” Cas says

“No, Absolutely not,” Dean laughs, but he doesn’t back away as Cas gets them both in frame. Dean smiles up at the camera, hyper-aware of the feeling of Cas’ arm brushing his.

“It’ll be blurry,” he says through grinning teeth.

“No, it’ll be perfect,” Cas replies hitting the shutter.

  


**_Mile 10_ **

Whatever runner’s high Dean had has worn off. His knees and calves scream from the constant impact. His skin is tight from the layers of sweat drying over it. He put his headphone back in, attempting to zone out to some driving rock song, but his mind keeps rolling back to the ache in his lungs his complete hatred of running.

“C’mon Dean! Let’s do this!” He glares at Cas, who has no right to be that attractive while covered in sweat. He points up the “Mile 10” flag as they pass beneath it. “Look, just 5K to go.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and groans, but he keeps running.

  


**_Mile 11_ **

Dean sucks down two glasses of water at the next water stop, choking as they go down the wrong tube. Cas offers another Gu, which he takes gratefully (maple bacon this time, and surprisingly tasty). It helps with the fatigue, but not with the pain in his legs and lower back. Dean sees other runners walking along the shoulder of the road, looking just as miserable and sweaty he does.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, barely able to form word, “Can we slow down a bit?” He swallows hard, his throat tight and dry, and gives the other man a pleading look. Cas nods and wipes at his own forehead, exhaustion wearing on his face as well. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he pants, checking his watch as they slow to a jog. “Yeah, let’s take it easy for a bit. You doing ok?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says with a cough. Cas reaches out a hand and squeezes his shoulder; the contact causes a nervous chill to run through Dean.

“Almost done,” Cas assures. “I have faith in you.” Dean glances at him; his expression so open and earnest as he says this. Dean summons all his energy, turning up the volume on his music. 

“Let’s do this,” he mutters, trudging ahead.

  


**_Mile 12_ **

Dean can’t do this.

Castiel is almost 15 feet ahead of him when he notices Dean isn’t by his side. He lumbers along the soft shoulder of the road, his feet practically dragging.

“Dean?” He asks, trekking back to meet him, but Dean just waves him off.

“Go,” he insists breathlessly. “Go on, I’ll be… You go ahead. I don’t want to slow you down.” Dean can see that Cas is faster and that he’s been pulling back his own power and running with him out of pity. There’s no reason his finishing time should be affected because Dean can’t hack it. This was a mistake.

Cas sets’ his jaw and locks his gaze on Dean. “You can do this,” he says firmly. “We just have one mile, that’s it.”

“Shut up,” Dean mutters.

“You’ve come this far,” Cas continues. “Don’t give up now.”

“If you say finish strong, I’m going to punch you in the mouth,” Dean growls, even as his legs begin to pump faster.

Cas breaks out in a laugh. “Fair enough.” He says. “Let’s do this, Dean. Keep breathing, keep moving.”

  


**_Mile 13_ **

The cheers of the spectators around them are drowned out by the blood rushing past Dean’s ears and Cas’ encouragements. They run down the road, their hands linked together between them. Dean’s not sure when they joined hands or who took whose first, but he’s not letting go. 

The “Mile 13” flag flaps in the breeze and, just ahead of it, Dean spots the finish line. 

“Oh, fuck yeah!,” he cheers breathlessly, his face breaking into a wide, weary smile. 

“Let’s do this,” Cas shouts out, pulling Dean by the hand as he speeds up. Dean pushes as hard as he can, his lungs aching for air and his legs protesting at the effort. Cas’ hand grips his like a vise, and it’s all the encouragement Dean needs to ignore everything else. He zeros in on the archway ahead of them, his goal close enough he can taste it.

They cross the finish line with a whoop of joy and, almost immediately, Dean collapses against Cas. His entire body slumps forward in exhaustion as he tries to catch his breath. Cas’ arms come around his shoulders, holding him up with surprising strength.

“You did it,” Cas says, his voice full of pure glee. “Way to go, Dean.” Dean raises his head, smiling at Cas triumphantly, his head swimming at the sudden stop.

The move out of the chute, Dean’s arm looped over Cas’ shoulder while Cas’ hand stays planted at the small of Dean’s back. 

“Dean?” Someone shouts out. Dean lifts his head as Sam and Jess emerge from the crowd, finisher medals already hanging from their necks and water bottles in hand. 

“Dean! Hey Dean, we didn’t see you-” Sam stops short, his face pinching in confusion. “Uh… hey is this a friend of yours?” He asks. Dean unhooks himself from around Cas and stands up straight.

“Yeah, This is Cas,” he hooks a thumb to his left. “Cas, Sam and Jess. We, uh, paired up, ran together most of the way.”

“We’re so sorry about taking off like that,” Jess says sincerely. “I kept telling Sam not all of us have car-length strides.” She elbows him playfully.

“I was just excited,” Sam shrugs. Dean gives a dismissive wave; he doesn’t even have the energy to be mad at his brother anymore. 

“No, it’s cool man. Cas kept me company,” He offers a soft smile at the man, making a point to ignore the knowing looks he’s getting from Sam and Jess.

Cas clears his throat, awkwardly breaking the tension. “We should probably get our medals,” Cas says, glancing around as more runners pour into the exit chute. Dean nods.

“Yeah, and after that, food! And water!” He says. “Hey, you know, if you’re not busy, we were thinking about grabbing something at Downtown Disney. Do you… want to come along?” There is a brief moment where Dean isn’t sure he said the right thing, but then Cas beams at him.

“I’d like that Dean,” he says. “Thank you.” They move out of the way, Dean casting his gleeful brother an unspoken warning not to say  _ one word. _

The four make their way to the medals, Cas and Dean’s hands slipping together as they follow Sam and Jess. 

**Author's Note:**

> The race Dean is doing actually exists: [Star Wars Half Marathon- The Dark Side](http://www.rundisney.com/star-wars-wdw-half-marathon/)


End file.
